“Can’t,” I gasp. “I--It’s too much.”
“Try again, baby.” His tongue flicks my oversensitive c**t. “You f*****g can.”
He’s relentless, working me through the aftershocks, building me back up when I thought I had nothing left.
His fingers pump steadily, his mouth worships my c**t, and impossibly, I feel it building again.
Only when I’m a sobbing, wrecked mess, right on the edge again, does he surge up. His c**k slams back into me in one brutal stroke.
“Again,” he snarls, hips pounding so hard the platform creaks beneath us. “Give me another one. I’m addicted to this cunt, Ember. Addicted to how you squeeze me, how you flood my c**k, how you scream my name. This is my f*****g drug.”
One hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise. The other slides between us, thumb finding my c**t—slick and
